


Re-Memoried

by Blackdresses13



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, am i trauma dumping, yes I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackdresses13/pseuds/Blackdresses13
Summary: So why is it that now, six years later, with his head turned to his photos of him and his friends, does he feel this overwhelming tightness in his chest? Why does it feel like everything hurts, like that moment hurt, way more now than it did back then? Why is it bothering him now?--Prompto starts getting flashbacks.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Re-Memoried

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: dissociation and ptsd. There are no trauma details!

The first time it happens he’s seventeen.

He’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling while his thoughts float away. He’s skimming through past memories, like pages of a book in a bookstore; he doesn’t care about the words at the moment, just the size of the font, the spacing of the lines, and how close the margins are to the center seam. Sixth birthday party: green frosting; flip. Eight years old: gray pigeons on the roof of his neighbor’s house; flip. Fourth grade: new shoes that chaffed his bloated ankles; flip.

Fifth grade, buying his first camera with money he saved from his allowance; flip.

The following summer: walking to the park alone because his parents left for a weekend trip; flip.

Every day this week: on the park bench and going through his photos.

_A hand on his shoulder._

If he turns to the side right now, he could see the picture that he took that day taped to his wall, next to the photo of him and Noct at the same park, smiling mindlessly. He doesn’t remember why he saved that one; it doesn’t matter.

_The hand presses down._

To the left of the picture is one of Ignis lecturing Noct in his apartment; the prince looks beyond bored, and Ignis is growing slightly agitated but still maintains his composure. He saved that one because two seconds later Noctis turned to him, winked, and then warped onto the balcony.

_When his parents came home four days later (they’d been delayed), he told his mother about it while she was making dinner._

_Don’t tell anyone._

_Okay._

He was eleven then; he’s seventeen now, and he’s only ever mentioned it once in passing; it was a psychiatrist appointment for his anxiety medication.

_Have you experienced any—_

_Yes._

_Does it bother you?_

_No._

And that was it. So why is it that now, six years later, with his head turned to his photos of him and his friends, does he feel this overwhelming tightness in his chest? Why does it feel like everything hurts, like that moment _hurt_ , way more now than it did back then? Why is it bothering him now?

He falls asleep.

The second time it happens is three months later.

He’s in Noctis’s apartment, playing video games on a Thursday afternoon. He’s eighteen now; his parents haven’t called him in three weeks. He’s in the process of applying to the Crownsguard, and Cor the _literal_ Immortal has to do another background check on him.

“Are you worried about him finding out you smoked weed once when you were thirteen?” Noctis asks casually, eyes glued to the screen.

“Not really,” he replies, pressing his fingertips down onto his thumbnails. “I figure if everyone’s been okay with us hanging out so far, they must already know.”

“I, um,” Noct laughs awkwardly, brushing a stray hair off his neck. “I actually told Ignis about it a year ago.”

He freezes, but pushes passed the wave of anxiety and goes for a joke instead, slapping Noct on the shoulder, “Dude! That was private!”

“Really? Must have slipped my mind. He wasn’t surprised though.”

There’s a knot in his chest now, larger than he’s used to. He waits a second, breathes in, looks out the window, counts the number of birds he can see, and breathes out again. “Why wasn’t he surprised?”

Noct doesn’t reply, totally immersed after twelve seconds of silence.

He slaps the prince again, this time with less vigor and more agitation. Noctis jerks slightly, pauses the game and looks at him. “What?” he asks.

“Why wasn’t Iggy surprised when you told him?"

Noctis bites his lip (a habit he’s picked up from his best friend) and scratches his neck. “I mean, you’re a pretty anxious guy. He probably figured you just wanted to calm down for a while.”

This is true. Some of his spinning thoughts start to recede, but the knot in his chest gets tighter. He doesn’t understand, but he tries for a casual tone. “I thought you were gonna say Ignis thought I was like a delinquent or something.”

Noctis laughs for real this time, unpausing the game. “Delinquent? When did you learn how to read? This year?”

The knot gets tighter, and he doesn’t know why. He’s voice is getting strained, but he keeps pretending. “Still earlier than you, judging by that growing stack of reports on the counter.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

He shifts in his seat, pulling his knees up to his chest and breathing deep. Something in his brain tells him to run away, but instead he stares at the screen, watching the colors fly by as his vision loses focus.

“Ignis is probably going to lecture me about it tonight after you leave.” Noctis breathes out a soft scoff, “Remember when I warped out the window to avoid him?”

In his head he can see the picture on the wall. Noctis and Ignis frozen in time a centimeter away from that saved picture from eight years ago.

“I only did that because you were here; thought it might make you laugh cause I know you get uncomfortable when Ignis gets like that.”

He opens his mouth to say something but instead grips onto his ankles tighter. He closes his eyes.

_There’s a pressure on his shoulder._

He jerks slightly, and his eyes shoot open, scanning the room.

“Prom? You okay?”

He untangles himself and turns around, but there’s no one behind him. Ignis went back to the Citadel to get more reports; Gladio is working with Cor on his third background check.

_The pressure increases_.

His breathing is getting messed up; something keeps tying the veins in his heart into knots, sending blood clots into his lungs as they search for oxygen that isn’t coming.

He hears it softly, in the back of his mind; there’s this tiny voice, soft and uncomfortable:

_I don’t want this._

Something slides into his hand, slightly clammy and rough with callouses. It feels like chopsticks are poking into his palms.

“Prom, try to breathe. Did you hear something back there?”

He doesn’t understand.

The third time it happens is the next day.

Ignis picks them both up from school. Instead of blocking off Noctis’s weekend to power through the reports, he’s letting the prince’s best friend camp out at his apartment; they will (not) study for their physics test on Monday.

Ignis pulls into said best friend’s driveway.

“I’ll just be a few minutes!” He says, jumping out the car.

“There’s no rush, Prompto,” the advisor replies.

He smiles softly and then closes the door. He turns to his house and---

_I don’t want this._

He blinks, shakes his shoulders, and keeps walking, eyes glued forward. He can feel himself swaying a little bit from a wave of dizziness, but he doesn’t want ~~the Prince~~ Noct to worry about him.

When he pushes open the front door, it shifts too far forward, knocking the standing coat rack off balance. It falls to the right, hitting the end table with the cheap ceramic lamp from the secondhand store.

It falls.

_PLEASE._

And--

He’s in his bedroom now, staring at that picture on the wall. There’s an overnight bag in his hands, heavy and sagging in his weak grip. He blinks and drops the bag; it lands hard on his foot, but he can’t hear it.

Someone’s banging on the front door.

_Hide!_

He’s trying not to panic because he doesn’t remember walking upstairs. He’s trying not to panic but there’s this _pressure_ on his shoulder. He’s trying not to---

“Prompto! Open the door!”

_Please._

He’s in the closet, and there’s legs standing in front of him. No, he’s---

“Is everything alright? I heard you cry out.”

_Hide! Quick!_

He’s in his bedroom, staring into his closet. He’s looking for his gray jacket. It’s supposed to be cold this weekend, and he can feel a scratch building up in his throat. He wants to scream, but instead he’s watching himself pick out his red hoodie instead. There’s still banging and---

“Prom!?”

There’s someone in his house.

_Run Run RunRunRunRunRun_

“Prompto, where are you?”

He can’t breathe. He’s still staring at the picture but he’s in the closet but he’s looking into the closet but he’s screaming but he’s picking out a sweater but he’s _scared_ but---

_Why is this bothering me now?_

He feels arms wrapping around his torso, but he doesn’t know where he is. His throat feels scratchy and broken.

“I think I’m getting sick,” he says, feeling mucus and phlegm coating his throat.

“Prom, you were _crying_ ,” and it’s Noctis who replies. The prince is holding him, and he’s squeezing back so tightly.

_What if I crush him?_

“You’re not going to crush me, dude. I’d be worried if you didn’t hug me as tight as you normally do.”

He opens his eyes and---

They’re in Noctis’s apartment. There’s no closet; no picture; no house. He can hear someone (probably Ignis) puttering around in the kitchen. Noctis and his best friend are sitting on the floor near the front door, arms entangled like conjoined mummies.

_Why is this happening now?_

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t know how Noctis is reading his mind. He doesn’t really know anything at the moment.

He tries to say the words that he wants to say, and it works for the most part, despite the voice crack. “Why is it bothering me now?”

Noctis leans his head back against the wall while his best friend cuddles into his torso. The prince doesn’t say anything for what feels like a long time. He’s scared that if he lets go of him he’ll end up back in that horrible time-skipping mess from two minutes ago.

A hand reaches into his hair. “I don’t know, Prom.” Noctis is speaking very slowly, sliding his fingers in and out of his blond locks.

He wants to pace around the room, but he doesn’t. He just keeps holding on to Noctis. “It was fine for years, and then it just hit me so fast.”

The fingers keep carding through. “Prom-“

He can feel his heart picking up. “I didn’t do anything different, I promise! It just came out of nowhere, and I can’t turn it off.” He can feel his eyes watering, and his voice is catching again. Everything feels terrible.

The hand on his back starts moving in circles.

“I was standing in my bedroom, and I just got hit with this image in my head that I’ve never seen before. There was this guy and-“

The hand stops. “Prompto, hang on.”

He realizes now that he’s curled into a ball in the prince’s lap. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t move.

The hand starts moving again. “I just don’t want you to get upset again.”

_How can I not be upset? How am I supposed to exist now that I know about all of this? How do I walk around in stained clothes in front of everyone I’ve ever known with everything terrible all over me?_

He breathes in deeply and then exhales. “I’m not upset.”

The prince sighs. “Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> The original title of this fic was: shit trauma dump fic (but my beta changed the file to NOT shit trauma dump fic). Special shout out to my beta <3


End file.
